WHEN JONES married Miss Joynstock, Eastern culture, acting upon a naturally quiet and plastic temperament, had apparently eradicated all traces of that lady's earlier training--or lack of training--in the not very remote period when her father was a common, every-day Nevada miner. Jones is a clever young fellow, and knows it, and as a natural consequence is a trifle conceited, of which he is also conscious at times. He went to a party the other night, and, under the stimulus of good company and good champagne, talked a great deal--in fact, too much. The next morning, while dressing, he remarked to his wife:
"My dear, I wish you had more of that--that vivacity of intellect--that--that--spontaneity of expression, that--er--in short, more of that snap, which makes some womens'[sic] influence upon persons of the opposite sex, so far-reaching and beneficent. For instance: When you hear me talking too much, it would be the simplest thing in the world for you to make an incidental remark, or drop a hint, that would exercise a restraining influence--pull me up a bit, so to speak, and keep me from making a fool of myself."
"Do you think so, dear?" she said quietly: "Then I'll try to do so. And in order not to lose any time," she continued softly, after a moment's pause, "I'll begin now."
When Jones recovered consciousness, his wife was bending solicitously over him, holding with one hand a damp towel to his head, and with the other a glass to his lips.
"Drink this, dear," she murmured, in her usual quiet way: "and you 'll feel better. I 'm awfully sorry for you; but you forgot that I was raised in a mining town."